The First of Many The tiny eggs open and larvae unfurl cluster at the edges of the birdbath as though already dreaming of breaking free. I try to explain to the assembled that I, too am like one of those little black squiggles a midge waiting to pupate and molt spread wings and fly away, and that they are to ignore the crumpled husk I leave behind. Holly Day After He isn’t vulnerable even in sleep, anymore—my hands fall rejected, retreat like dying butterflies into the folds of the blanket, my heart crawls back into itself screams to be set…